


In the Eye of the Storm

by Soroka



Series: World Enough and Time [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Fever Dreams, Gen, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Other, Supernatural Illnesses, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Tony Stark & Thor Friendship, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soroka/pseuds/Soroka
Summary: The Vanir call the gift of second sight a guiding flame that will reduce a mind to ashes if ignored. The Vanir and Asgard do not always share the same priorities.Or how Thor’s dormant clairvoyance is a heartless mistress, Tony is there to lend a hand and Odin’s shadow stretches a lot further than even he intended.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endgame cracked me like a nut so I wrote myself a candy bar to deal with it. Please bear with me while I work through my feelings by using my favorite character as a woobie blanket.

It is the sound of thunder that finally makes Tony glance up from his workbench.

He regrets it immediately when a sharp, searing pain clings to the back of his hand, loosening his grip on the soldering iron. He fumbles for it, like a failing juggler, but the tool slips through his fingers yet again, crashing noisily onto the printed circuit board underneath. All stages of grief collide in him as all his hard work becomes an amorphous puddle of melted copper.

Acceptance takes a long time coming so he settles for resignation and pulls the plug on the entire operation. The incident has been the latest one in a long conga line of mishaps, which really should have clued him into leaving this complicated redesign for a later date. Whether he likes it or not, his brain is still reeling from the very recent battle of Sokovia, struggling to fill a void of feigned normalcy. The realization only makes him feel even more useless as he throws a mourning look at the bubbling fruits of his labor. 

Perhaps it’s for the best, he thinks sourly. He was doing a piss-poor job and would have had to start all over in the morning.

As if to profess its agreement, dampened thunder rumbles across a restless sky. It comes with an incandescent flash that strikes directly above the tower, turning night into day and sending a prickling feeling over the nape of his neck. The storm had crept up on him over the course of the last few hours, but now that it has his full attention, it conjures up images of dark castles, torches and pitchforks. Given what just happened with Ultron, they wouldn’t be completely undeserved.

He holds back a humorless laugh as he remembers that JARVIS’s name was almost IGOR. He had even called himself a mad scientist that very day. Should he really be surprised if the universe had decided to play along?

He reaches for a remote to lower the blinds against the inclement weather. The lights above him begin to flicker before he can find it missing and a second later, he is plunged into soft, velvety darkness. It proves to be an unexpected comfort for his strained eyes, which after a solid minute, starts to wear out its welcome.

He turns to the nearest camera, guided by a pinprick of red against black. “FRIDAY? I know it’s your first day on the job but you are taking your sweet time.”

The AI makes him wait a bit longer still. When she speaks up, she sounds groggy, as static crackles its way over the speakers. “Sorry, boss, that last lightning strike hit us right where it hurts. The main generator is fried and its backup just went the same way. I’m afraid it’s candlelit dinners for us until they get replaced.”

Tony sighs, rummaging around for a flashlight. The sea of pitch blackness grows less impenetrable as the light from nearby buildings trickles in through a thick curtain of rain. “Pepper’s gonna love that,” he quips and winces when his foot slams against a cabinet. “Wait, how are you talking to me then?”

“I managed to reroute some power into my auxiliary bank before the surge hit its peak. It should keep me operational for the next couple of hours.”

Tony’s low hum of acknowledgment turns into a yelp as his groping hands brush against something sharp in the depths of a long drawer. He gives up on the flashlight and fishes out his smartphone which flashes ‘1:00 am’ at him, beside a dying battery icon. Its dull glow lasts for about fifteen seconds before it vibrates pitifully and turns off as well. If the universe is trying to tell him something, it is running out of subtlety. 

“Clever girl,” he yawns. “Tell you what, keep your functions to a minimum and make sure nothing explodes. I’m gonna go catch some serious Z’s.”

He punches in a security code and steps out of the workshop moving practically on autopilot. The tiled floor under his shuffling feet becomes hardwood after about a dozen steps and the air soon grows thick with the pungent scent of artificial pine. He twitches his nose, reminding himself never to let Clint pick an air freshener again. His latest acquisition makes the whole place smell like a car and when mixed with fresh popcorn, produces a whole different unholy miasma which Tony suspects is behind the team’s reluctance to movie nights.

The team’s reluctance to stay at the tower is a lot less light-hearted. Tony had built it as a safe place where they could all recover after a mission, but after a while, he began to suspect he was the only one to view it as such. For everyone else, their presence there came to mean that something had gone awry, no matter how many team-building events took place within its walls. Even Vision, who as far as Tony was concerned, was born yesterday had chosen to disappear for the night, leaving the room that used to belong to Steve empty. Cap himself was probably back in his tiny apartment in Brooklyn, pouring over a growing stack of files he only ever seemed to discuss with Sam. Clint and Natasha had returned to the Barton Homestead and were probably now reminiscing under the stars, beers in hand. Their resident god of thunder has been uncharacteristically quiet since their return, roaming the upper floor with a troubled look, not even coming down for dinner. As for Bruce, he hasn’t seen him since the Quinjet fell off the Avengers’ radar and as he flashes back to the news reports about Johannesburg, Tony can hardly blame him.

He realizes he is going to miss their company. The past three days had been a turning point, one he really should have seen coming. No matter what tomorrow brings, things can never go back to the way they were.

He pushes open the door to the living room and feels the wall for a useless light switch. Sleep slides right off him when the static electricity caught in the carpet burns his toes like poison ivy. He sucks in a sharp breath and stumbles back towards the doorway as he finds himself staring at a very disheveled Thor Odinson.

The other, in turn, seems completely unaware he has company. He stands barefoot in the middle of the room, dressed only in baggy shorts and a t-shirt that still retains a vague print of some obscure metal band. Long hair, unrestrained by the usual braids and ponytails, falls over his slumped shoulders in a tangled mess. His unsettling stillness is only punctuated by pale lightning that streams across his body in thin rivulets, conferring him an almost ethereal glow. It comes to pool in his eyes that stare blankly ahead, past the raging storm reigniting the night in irregular flashes.

“Point Break?” Despite the trepidation mounting inside him, Tony’s voice manages to come out cautiously low. “You okay there?”

He gets no reply except for the loud rustle of rain outside the window. Before he has a chance to try again, the sky tears itself apart in a blinding instant, followed by a thunderclap that comes close to rattling the bulletproof glass. It is only then that a willowy silhouette comes into focus beside Thor, cloaked until now by the room’s long shadows. As a slender hand slowly reaches out towards his head, Tony recognizes their new Sokovian guest.

Anger lashes through him in its purest form, before any other emotion can catch up. “What the hell are you doing?”

He barks the words out without processing them. Wanda startles and jerks her hand away, brown eyes laced with fear. “Nothing!” she blurts out, “I was just…”

“Get away from him! Now!”

Again, the words come out as a barked order. The late JARVIS pipes up in Tony’s head to calmly point out that antagonizing a telepath in sweatpants is among the stupidest things he could be doing. His replacement, however, proves to be a lot more proactive as an Iron Legion drone takes only five more seconds to burst into the room, dragging loose cables behind it. Tony is genuinely amazed at how fast FRIDAY has cobbled it together until he realizes it spells bad news for the state of his power armor.

A retreating Wanda stops dead in her tracks when faced with sleek taser pointed straight at her. “I’m not your enemy,” she mouths.

Tony has to work hard to hold back a dark laugh. “That’s a pretty hard sell, kid, but I’ll bite. You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before this guy sends you off to dreamland.” He watches her gaze dart madly between him and the drone and adds, “Twenty-five seconds now.”

His deceptively undisturbed tone manages to jog something in her as frustration overrules fear. “I don’t know, alright?” she snaps. “I kept hearing horrible things in my head all night! Screams, explosions, children crying...” She sinks long fingers into her hair, rubbing circles over her temples. “It kept growing louder and I just couldn’t stand it anymore! I stepped out to see where it was coming from and found him wandering around.” She points at the cluster of red light unraveling itself around Thor’s head, like an alien spider web. “All I wanted was to make it stop!” 

Tony follows her gesture in a stupor that has nothing to do with his ever-growing sleep-deprivation. It takes him a moment to translate the jamming gears in his brain into coherent thought. “Are you seriously telling me his dreams wouldn’t let you sleep?”

She gives him an awkward nod, still not tearing her attention away from the taser. There’s an audible crack in her answer, as she fights back a shallow streak of tears. “I used to calm Pietro’s nightmares when they got too bad. I thought I could do the same with him.”

She hugs her elbows and shuffles in place, like a tall bird trapped in a narrow cage. Pepper’s ill-fitting nightgown hangs loose on her skinny arms. The shadows the storm projects upon her angular features make her look even younger and the sight is enough to make Tony’s paranoia waver. If pointing weapons at grieving teenagers became the Avengers’ MO, they shouldn’t remain the Avengers for much longer.

He waves at the drone to stand down. “So? Did it work?”

She tugs at her sleeves as if expecting lightning to strike her down where she stands. “I’ve never seen a nightmare like that,” she confesses. “Have you?”

“I had ones that felt like this.” Apprehension snakes its way across Tony’s spine again as he steps closer to lay a careful hand over a glowing shoulder. “Hey, Razzle-Dazzle?” he ventures. “Our witch-girl says you’re dreaming too loud. Mind switching to something else?”

He tightens his grip when a swarm of sparks rushes eagerly up his arm. Three of his fingers go numb before he can reconsider his decision and it doesn’t take long for the sensation to travel all the way to his wrist. The growing discomfort pays off right before he is ready to let go as Thor slowly tilts his head in his direction. The endless light burning inside his pupils dims just long enough for a spark of recognition to settle in them. Behind him, the storm bleaches the dark canvas of the sky one last time and melts back into the invisible clouds.

Lightning drains away from Thor’s eyes just as fast. The ethereal, electric web takes another few seconds to come undone. When it dissolves into crepuscular darkness, it takes whatever strength was holding its prisoner upright.

A stunned Tony barely has a chance to react before the god of thunder crumples like a broken doll. The effort of catching him almost knocks the wind out of his lungs as he sways dangerously. “FRIDAY…” he pants. “Give me a hand, I’ve been neglecting my weightlifting.”

The hastily assembled vessel doesn’t need to be told twice. Thin, steel limbs rush to his rescue, helping him lower the lifeless burden in his arms on the carpet. Tony drops to his knees, never breaking his hold and grasps for a sluggish pulse which eventually meets his fingers from under moist skin. By now, it is becoming difficult to ignore how weak and shallow Thor’s breath is growing or the unnatural heat that radiates from him when Tony pulls him closer. When the blond head lolls boneless against his shoulder, it starts to feel like he is cradling a human-shaped furnace.

“That could have gone better,” he murmurs and turns his attention to the AI. “Time to flex all those med files I fed you, girl. Is this normal?”

The drone gives out a long, pensive hum. Its half-repaired chest cavity shines down on them unsteadily, sending their shadows into a complicated dance. “There’s no ‘normal’ with him, boss. I believe our official description for Asgardian physiology is ‘this article is a stub’.”

If the reply was meant to carry sarcasm, her phlegmatic demeanor reflects none of it. An unhelpful memory sneaks up on Tony to remind him he wrote those exact words himself. “Fair enough,” he mutters. “How’s the medical wing looking? Don’t we have an emergency generator in there?”

He can’t even begin to count his blessings when he hears FRIDAY’s telltale hum again. “It’s a very expensive fire hazard now,” she says after a flickering pause. “The surge left it in a very unstable condition. I’m trying to keep the damage contained but for now, it’s...”

“Candlelit dinners, got it.” He rests his back against a nearby couch and leans over the prone form slumped against him. “Thor? I need your help here, Asgardians don’t come with a manual. Even if they did, you’re probably one big, flashy exception.” His fingertips sink in the blond hair, brushing away matted strands from closed eyelids. “Thor?” he insists, “Come on, sunshine, you have to wake up.”

He pats a warm cheek with a clumsy hand and watches the blue eyes flutter on the edge of consciousness. It takes a few more seconds for them to open but relief bleeds straight back into concern for Tony when they look past him, dull and unfocused. In the muted glow of the arc reactor, Thor’s dilated pupils seem as deep and dark as the beckoning void between the stars. Soon, they stop reacting to the light at all, staring far into infinity with the empty look of the dead.

“I went for the head...”

The words are little more than a whisper. Tony is convinced he has misunderstood something until he puts an ear to the faintly moving lips and hears them again in a hollow, broken tone. Shock and grief stare back when he leans away, frozen upon Thor’s face like an ill-fitting mask he finds disturbingly familiar. He has seen a paler shade of the same shadow haunting the faces of the Avengers when he returned to Klau’s base of operations with an unconscious Bruce in tow. It reappeared in Thor’s eyes, like a passing storm cloud, after he dropped on them out of nowhere and slammed Mjolnir into the Cradle to complete the birth of Vision. Seeing it again, especially considering his strange behavior throughout the evening, makes a painful knot tie itself beneath Tony’s chest. He hadn’t even tried to talk to him before burying his head straight back into work. None of them had. They made it a habit to keep an eye on Bruce after a code green but they had completely neglected to do the same with the other nuke in their arsenal.

Perhaps it was because he was usually the first to lighten the mood after a mission. Nobody ever thinks to ask the guy who cracks the first joke or makes a fool out of himself if he’s alright. In retrospect, Tony is almost impressed to see the craft he pioneered perfected to such a degree.

“Whose head?” he asks, more interested in keeping him talking than in the actual answer. “Ultron’s? He’s gone, remember?”

Thor doesn’t seem to hear him, his gaze still locked in some terrifying abyss. “Gone,” he echoes numbly, choking on the word as if it was poison. “All of it… all of them…”

He trails off, exhaustion claiming the rest of the barely audible mantra. Tony cannot begin to make sense of any of it, but the heartbreak in the frail voice cuts through him like a razor and pushes all questions onto a backburner. His own skin feels oddly cold when he places what he hopes is a soothing hand over a boiling forehead.

"I know, buddy,” he murmurs at a loss for any other words, “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. It’s all just a screwed-up dream.” He snaps his head up to look at Wanda, still lingering beside them like a forlorn apparition in an oversized gown. “What did you do to him? I need you to be specific.”

She steps closer, hands still clenched around her elbows. “Nothing bad,” she assures a little too vehemently. “A nightmare is like a knot. You have to find a loose thread and pull at it until it’s gone. Some knots are more twisted than others but this one is too complex to come undone.” She gingerly crouches down to touch Thor but pulls back when she meets Tony’s expression. “I don’t think it’s a knot at all. I think it’s a tapestry.”

Tony closes a frustrated hand over his face. “Right, I’m glad we had this talk. That cleared everything up.”

She glares a pointed dagger at him. “You said to be specific!” she fumes, only to immediately clam up. “What is that?”

A second later, Tony feels it too. A powerful magnetic field rises around them like a tide, making his skin break out in goosebumps and the arc reactor glow warm and bright. It’s an unexpectedly pleasant feeling, which doesn’t last long when he raises a hand to his face and finds it stained with blood. He looks down just in time to see a thin, crimson streak make its way down Thor’s upper lip.

The next word out of his mouth is a loud curse. 

Lead congeals in the pit of his stomach as the nosebleed shows no signs of stopping. The blond head quivers in his hold, blue eyes slipping closed, then falls limp in the crook of his arm. A strong convulsion runs across Thor’s body like an electric shock, followed closely by a second and then a third. By the time the fourth one hits, Tony is clasping his hands across Thor’s temples, trying to keep them both still, as static electricity crackles in the bone-dry air.

“Hold on, sunshine,” he breathes. “FRIDAY, the power armor...?”

His reply is another dejected hum. “It’s not taking off any time soon, boss. I don’t think it can even walk.”

Tony cards a hand through his hair to ease the crawling sensation across his scalp. His mind rushes through a quick list of alternatives before returning back to the source. “I don’t need it to. Extract the life support and keep that battery going no matter what.” He turns to the teenager rising back to her feet and points to a glazed door. “Hey, Carrie! See the kitchen over there?”

Wanda’s nod is followed by confused, furrowed eyebrows. “My name’s not…”

“I know, kid, force of habit. I need you to get me a towel and all the ice that hasn’t melted yet.” He recoils from a flurry of sparks settling on Thor, like dying, blue fireflies. “And rubber gloves.”

* * *

About three hours later, Tony feels a tentative calm wash over him.

It is about at the same time that the vital signs monitor, cannibalized from the power armor, stops acting up. It has taken more than a few re-wirings for it to work and even now, it can’t be kept too far away from the rest of the life support system that hangs around Thor in a messy nest of cables. It is kept in place with medical patches and gauze, making him look like a cyborg from a cheap movie but it serves its purpose well enough to tame the anxiety slithering across Tony’s mind. It gives him access to numbers and graphs, it gives him information. Information means at least an illusion of control.

He reaches out to untangle a few wires keeping the flimsy monitor straight. Outside its fitted casing inside the suit, it is the size of an average smartphone and only as thick as a sheet of paper. It had wobbled precariously, when he and the drone lifted Thor from the blood-speckled carpet and let him sink into a restless delirium on the biggest couch in the living room. It had flickered like a dying flame, getting close to shorting out when his fever had spiked and lightning danced under his skin, as if struggling to escape it. When it settled into a calm, subdued glow, it did so alongside a steadying pulse and long, deepening breaths that finally convinced Tony to pull off his encumbering but necessary protection. The gloves lie discarded in a tray beneath his feet now, next to a hand towel, soaked to the very last thread. 

He picks it up and dips his hand under the last ice cubes floating inside a large ceramic bowl. Droplets of stinging water slide towards his elbows as he drops them into the towel and twists it loosely around his wrist to prevent them from sliding out. When the cold compress returns to its place over Thor’s forehead, he doesn’t seem to feel its presence at all.

By now, Tony can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. He had watched him toss and turn, growing weaker with every movement, and could do nothing but shush him and keep a comforting grip on his shoulders. He had thrown a thin blanket over him when he had started shivering and his skin grew clammy and gray instead of flushed. Loki and Heimdall’s names had poured out of his mouth several times, first as pleas, then as a silent imprint on his lips, until they vanished into the back of his throat and became shaky, faltering breaths. Now that he lies motionless, oblivious even to the sting of hypodermic needles, he looks peaceful enough but it is a fragile kind of peace for Tony. The kind that keeps his fingers on Thor’s pulse despite what the vital signs monitor flashes at him and makes him lean down every once in a while to make sure he is still breathing.

He wipes a trail of water dripping down his arm, wishing for the hundredth time today that Bruce would step through the door, if only for moral support. He is completely out of his element here and he knows it. Even in its wounded state, SHIELD is the only one with resources to help him but Nick Fury has disappeared into thin air again, along with the helicarrier that saved them on top of a doomed Sokovian city. Asgard is as far from his reach as the nearest solar system. Any hospital would be flying as blind as him, and would definitely have their equipment fried in the long run. He had been tempted to try them anyway until his best possible option answered his call on the other side of the world and eased his mind from growing panic to soul-stirring concern.

As he dabs the remains of the fever out of Thor’s skin, Tony is ready to consider that an improvement.

A tablet balanced on a netbook stand flickers back to life at the corner of his eye, replenished by a thick power bank. On its dusty screen, Helen Cho takes a long gulp out of a plastic mug with a cute logo that clashes irrevocably with her serious expression. “How is he doing?” she asks.

Tony wrings out the quickly melting ice from the compress. By now, his reddened fingers are as cold as the water so he rests them against Thor’s collarbone and frowns when he remains unresponsive. “Sleeping, I think,” he replies. “He was muttering nonsense about rabbits and Ne-dah-something for a while. But I can’t expect him to make sense when he isn’t burning up.” He shifts his weight on the padded chair. “His temperature dropped to a hundred and eight Fahrenheit fifteen minutes ago and hasn’t budged since. That’s not a hundred and twelve but I still wouldn’t call that normal.”

To his surprise, tension melts away from Helen’s taut face. “He’s supposed to run a bit hotter than humans,” she says and allows herself a small smile as she peeks at the screen in her hands. “This is good news, Stark, his fever’s breaking. Not as fast as we expected, but it is breaking.”

Tony nods and gently presses down on the towel, letting the leftover moisture seep into the blond hair. “Shouldn’t he be awake, then? If he’s really getting better?”

“Seizures are traumatic experiences. You don’t just bounce back from one, Asgardian or not.” Something must have changed in his expression since Helen’s eyes stop skimming the tablet and seek his through the lens of the tiny camera. “I know you’re worried about him, but he’s stable and there’s no damage to the nervous system. The chances of his condition backsliding are astronomically low at this point. What’s really important now is to find out what caused this.” She bites her lip in thought, waiting for the vitals monitor to sync up with her device. “Pre-existing condition, maybe?”

“If it is, he doesn’t know about it.”

Helen peers at him intently over thin-rimmed glasses. “Are you sure? People don’t normally talk about these things. And if history has taught us anything it’s that royal families like to keep their weaknesses under wraps.”

Tony shakes his head, tapping his foot against the rickety chair. “He’s not the type to keep secrets, doc. At least not from me. By now, I can probably draw a half-decent map of Asgard and chart the orbit of its sun.” He chuckles at the memory of Thor’s bemusement when the Avengers expressly forbade him from revealing the shape of his home planet to the general public. “Not that I go around advertising that. We have enough flat-earthers as it is.”

Helen’s mouth tugs as she turns away to refill her cup. “I see,” she says. “Whatever it is, he’s lucky to have you.”

The empty acetaminophen flask Tony’s been nervously fiddling with slips out of his grasp. A wall of awkward silence slams between them, amplifying every sound to an unbearable degree before Helen clears her throat strategically and sips her drink. “I mean, he was lucky you were there,” she clarifies.

Tony just shrugs and attempts an equally strategic yawn. “Like hell,” he says. “He was lucky you picked up the phone. I was completely useless before that.”

She aims a reassuring smile at him through the thin coat of dust. “You did fine. Just take it easy on him when he wakes up. He needs to rest and you guys have never been great at that.” Stern eyes linger on him as she sets the tablet away at her desk. “I’ll be monitoring his vitals from here but there might be a lag so call me if anything changes. Understood?”

“Understood,” he nods. “Goodnight, doc. Or good afternoon, I guess.”

The screen blinks to black, leaving Tony only with the glow of a battery-powered lights scattered aimlessly around the living room floor. Normally used to illuminate dark warehouses, they have been dimmed to their lowest setting, which lengthens every shadow around them into a spindly caricature. This is how he manages to spot Wanda’s slender frame way before she makes her way through the door, carrying an open shoebox. When she sets it down on a nearby chair, its contents clink softly against one another.

“These are the last ones we have,” she says. “Will they spoil if we don’t keep them cold?”

Tony fishes out an intravenous acetaminophen flask and turns it over, looking for imperfections. “They’ll be fine, just keep an eye on them. If they break, we can’t restock until morning.” He raises an eyebrow when their fingers meet over an unsealed disposable syringe. “What are you doing?”

The girl throws him a pointed look from beneath long auburn strands. “Your hands are shaking,” she says. “My mom was a diabetic so I know my way around one of these.” She tries and fails to slide the syringe out of his unsteady grasp. “What’s wrong? Still don’t trust me?”

It takes a moment for Tony to admit to himself she is right. After two hours of working with cold water and increasingly less fluffy towels, his dexterity is compromised and the last thing he wants is to mess up an injection. Reluctantly, he releases his hold and weaves his fingers together to massage life back into them.

“I’m working on it,” he grumbles. “You can forgive me for being jumpy when you were running with HYDRA only two days ago.”

She chooses to ignore him and proceeds to methodically fill up the syringe. Her fingers tiptoe across the inside of Thor’s arm, looking for a suitable vein. She completes the injection without a hitch, but when she looks up from her work, her eyes are as hard as stone. 

“Your archer friend told me that Pietro died an Avenger”, she says coolly. “Do I have to die to be one too?”

“No, but it tends to be an occupational hazard. You might take that into account before signing on the dotted line.” Her long, pregnant silence speaks for itself so Tony takes it upon himself to break it. “Cards on the table, kid, I’m not thrilled about your life choices but you’re not the only one with a checkered past around here. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of back in the day. My archer friend isn’t squeaky clean either. Greased Lightning here nearly started a war with another realm, Bruce still won’t go anywhere near Harlem, and Romanoff…” He pauses, trying fruitlessly to sort out a mess of conflicting records, “Well, she legitimately scares me so I have given up on asking about skeletons in her closet.”

Wanda’s response is merely a slow nod. “So HYDRA’s files were only slightly exaggerated,” she says. “What about Captain America? Any skeletons in his?”

Steve’s remark about not showing his dark side yet is a foreboding echo in Tony’s head. “He’s the white sheep, here to make us all look bad,” he replies. “My point is that if you really want to be redemption buddies, you’re in the right place. But if you’re cooking up some elaborate revenge plan, you can save yourself the trouble. Just knock on my door and get it over with.”

She regards him with suspicion, her hand stopping halfway to the plastic tray. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you have issues with me.” A pang of fresh guilt twists his heart and mind when he stares straight into her unrelenting, cold eyes. “I get it, I know about your parents. We tracked down the terrorist group that used those weapons but it never should have happened in the first place. I also know that ‘sorry’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

His words only prompt a cynical laugh before she exhales sharply and looks away. “You’re right, it doesn’t,” she says. “It’s funny, two days ago, I thought I knew exactly what would. Now, I’m not even sure about that.”

Tony follows her wandering gaze towards the light drizzle the storm has devolved into. “I have no answers for you either. If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. If you want to stay in the country and never look at me again, I’ll make sure you’re provided for. Want to punch me in the face? Go right ahead! But that kind of courtesy extends to me and me alone.” He catches her surprised look and tosses his head meaningfully towards the sleeping form on the couch. “I love these people. They make the world a better place and they sure as hell don’t deserve to pay for my mistakes. So make a wrong move, do anything to harm any of them and I won’t hold back on you. Am I making myself clear?”

The girl doesn’t reply right away. Instead, she lapses into another long bout of silence that makes Tony wonder if she’s questioning his sincerity or putting together an elaborate escape plan. “Crystal clear,” she concedes eventually. “As long as you don’t look the other way if something takes a shot at me. Or take a shot at me yourself when you think no one is looking.”

“You want to be an Avenger, don’t you? Believe it or not, we look out for one another.” He frowns, very aware of her unspoken reticence. “Is it you who doesn’t trust me now?”

Wiry shoulders rise dismissively under the crumpled gown. “I’m working on it,” she parrots back with a slight quirk over her lips. “If you must know, Strucker called you the weakest link in the chain. He said there were rifts to exploit between you and the rest. Attachments too.”

Tony groans at the thought of HYDRA agents potentially trash-talking them around their equivalent of a watercooler. “Shows what they know. I’ve never played favorites in my life, and I’m not about to start now.” He waves her off just as she is about to drop in a chair beside him. “Don’t sweat it, you can go back to bed. I got this.”

She seems to hesitate when he fails to suppress a genuine yawn. “Are you sure?”

Tony rubs his newly warmed hands. “Very sure,” he says before lifting the towel from Thor’s head and slipping it back into the cold water. “Besides, I kind of owe him.”

* * *

It is an insultingly nice day for the world to come to an end.

Tony’s unfinished projects scroll across his mind uninvited, along with his painstakingly curated bucket list. It vanishes in a flash when he turns his attention back to his visor, taking in the mass, speed, and shape of the pseudo-asteroid above him. The arc reactor hums against his skin in anticipation of the massive power blast bound to destabilize the antigravs propelling Sokovia towards the stratosphere. His heart shrinks at the prospect of using the Unibeam at all. It was conceived as a desperate last resort and it functions as such, never failing to drain the power armor and inevitably leaving him open for attack. The heart-clenching thought only makes him double down on his calculations. Running out of steam too soon now would mean global annihilation in less than five minutes.

He raises a hand to his comm, trying to break through the roar of the thrusters. “Thor, do you read me? Are you back at the church yet?”

His reply is a loud crash that reverberates painfully in his helmet. “I have been here for a while now.” The words drown in a sea of static, letting Tony know he’s indeed near the Vibranium core. “Whatever it is you are doing down there, you have to do it faster. We are running out of time.”

Another knot twists in Tony’s stomach at the wholly unnecessary reminder. “Relax, sunshine, I can only do this once. You don’t want Earth to become a smoking crater because I forgot to carry a zero.” He waits for FRIDAY to confirm the projected trajectory of the asteroid and readjusts a few settings on the arc reactor’s twin. “Did they tell the great Bragi of Asgard to hurry up when he was working on Eclipse of the Setting Sun?”

There’s a brief pause before Thor speaks again through the increasing interference. “He wrote that on his deathbed, Stark. You may want to pick another example.”

Tony cannot help a nervous laugh. “Details, details,” he mutters, as power flows towards the core of the armor, sapping the strength from his limbs. “For the record, if I end up as an iron pancake, Rhodey can keep the suit.”

“I will make sure he knows that.” Thor’s voice rings somber but as earnest as ever. “If I am the one to die today, Vision can keep Mjolnir.”

“You’re really going to snub everyone else for the new guy? And here you were my second favorite Avenger.” Tony grips the asteroid to keep himself in position, as stragglers from Ultron’s dwindling army rush past him through the thinning air. “You’ve got incoming, by the way.”

“I see them.” There’s another deafening crash that ripples through the rock before torn robot limbs plummet towards the clouds below. A familiar crackle bursts from the comm, followed by the slightest hint of dejection. “Second favorite?”

Tony’s lips curve into a smirk beneath the visor. “We can talk promotions when you have seven PhDs and can turn green.” He finishes his final calibrations and closes his eyes, ready to pray to any deity willing to listen. “You ready?”

“Say the word.”

He does, feeling the air leave his lungs along with the Unibeam. It pierces the antigravs like a hot knife through butter right before it meets the tidal wave of lightning cascading down the airborne bedrock of Sokovia. The sheer magnetic force of it hits him first, almost short-circuiting the power armor, as he finds himself in a barely controlled freefall. His eyes scan madly across the visor, searching for any changes in the asteroid’s structure. It has to have worked. He has run every verification there was, accounted for every possible variable. Cold sweat springs from his pores as he glances down at his own looming deadline. 

His math is off by only two seconds.

The explosion seems to shatter the sky itself. It shreds the air around the suit to ribbons, sending him into a tailspin through a growing cloud of debris that blocks out the sun. FRIDAY’s radar is his only guide as Sokovia rains down upon him in bits and pieces and he soon realizes it will not be enough. He falls into the most aerodynamic position he can and tries to make a beeline for the green blot peeking through the receding clouds. The forest should provide him with enough coverage until the energy wave at the stratosphere finishes polishing off the biggest chunks. It should be smooth sailing from then on.

He has just enough time to feel optimistic again before one of those chunks smashes hard against his head.

The world drops into a distant background, muted against the sharp ringing in his ears. Darkness takes him only for a second, but it is enough for another fragment to slam into his side, hurling him into a shower of jagged metal and broken glass. Stars bloom before his eyes, as he struggles to return to a safer flight path, which is quickly slipping further and further away. His whole body suddenly seems encumbered by the suit, powerless against its weight and the inescapable gravity pulling him towards certain death. His inner visor flickers, starved for power, before going out for good.

In the chaos that earth and sky become to his unenhanced eyes, it takes him a while to realize he isn’t falling anymore.

It takes him a while longer to understand there’s an arm wrapped around him as he is dragged through the wispy clouds and into the rich air of the lower atmosphere. He flails instinctively against the unexpected restraint but the grasp is tight, despite his rescuer clearly being on his own collision course with the ground. Their perilous trajectory corrects itself only at the last minute, as they both glide across the surface of a lake, close enough for water to splash across his visor.

Tony braces himself for an impact that turns out a lot less intense than expected. Instead, he ends up on his back, staring at a clear blue sky, with an arm still around him. Autumn foliage rains over his helmet from blurry canopies looking down on him. As he blinks back the landscape, his eyes catch the sunlight reflecting off a sand-speckled hammer stuck firmly in the muddy bank.

Thor’s voice reaches him like distant thunder from far above. “...ark? Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Blond hair falls straight into Tony’s line of sight as firm hands clasp his shoulders. “Stark! Answer me!”

Tony coughs and raises a reassuring hand, running another over his bruised ribs. “Ease up, mother-hen, I’m okay. Just give me a minute.” He hears Thor’s deep sigh of relief and raises his eyebrows at the uneven breath that follows. “Is that a collapsed lung I hear or are you actually laughing?”

He gets his answer when he flips up his visor and is greeted with an exhausted but genuine smile. “We just saved the world! And we survived! Is that not reason enough?”

Tony can only chuckle helplessly as he drags himself away and settles into a more comfortable position on the pebbly shore. “Only if we never have to do this again,” he says. “My Terminator LARPing days ended in college and I’d like to keep it that way.” He gingerly prods a bump growing right above his hairline. “You have all your bits where they belong?”

Thor reaches out towards Mjolnir in reply. The hammer flies to his hand as usual before sinking into the fallen leaves when his wielder lets go and falls back with a pained groan. “I think I do,” he replies. “But we are definitely going to need the team to pick us up.”

Tony nods, feeling FRIDAY coming back to life in his helmet. “Signaled them right now. They should be here in about twenty minutes.” He settles down and enjoys the crisp wind on his face as drowsiness creeps over him through the fading adrenaline rush. “I don’t know about you, but I could use them.”

“So could I.” Thor leans heavily against the trunk of a large tree, split in half by his fall. He remains silent long enough for Tony to think he’s out cold until he hears him stir on the coarse sand. “Stark?” he mumbles.

Tony raises his head, eyes hooded against the sun. “Hmm?”

Thor lets out a soft sigh that turns into a yawn. “I hope I am your favorite Avenger now,” he says and drifts off into the kind of sound sleep Tony can only dream of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you liked it, please leave a comment. The author craves your validation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! I tried to update earlier but life happened. A lot. 
> 
> Enough excuses, on with the show.

Nobody wants to roll dice against eight-year-old Thor.

After some time, Thor himself starts to find the game tiresome. Gambling for trinkets or bits of candy is a popular pastime with the local children but all it gets him is dirty looks along with his heap of treasures. When his dice are found to be untampered with, they shift their suspicions to enchantment, an accusation Thor can only scoff at. His eagerly anticipated training at Asgard’s Archmage Tower had been as brief as it had been disappointing. It didn’t even result in a unique mishap like the wisps of blue smoke that had poured out of Volstagg’s mouth for a fortnight. Everyone knows that his little brother is the family’s future sorcerer and he wouldn’t be caught dead helping him with something so trivial. Loki is all about games of skill, where figuring out the solution to a complicated problem is its own reward -- even if, most of the time, he has to find it alone.

Thor thinks there is a skill to the dance the dice perform on the floor of the courtyard. Some hidden logic has to be responsible for his growing collection of colorful pebbles and defective gemstones. He tries to change Loki’s mind if only to get him to play with them but finds only an unimpressed stare when he starts stumbling over his words. For all Thor knows, he doesn’t have an explanation besides a vague feeling of euphoria when the dice leave his hand and a soft fire behind his eyes as they bounce across the cracks in the marble. Then, when he calls out the number that feels safe to him, the dice cease their mad jig and he is proven right yet again.

Perhaps Loki has a point when he calls the whole endeavor utterly boring. It takes Thor’s friends only a month to get tired of it and start looking for something new. Their search comes at the end of an exceptionally cold winter when the first glimmer of sun is enough to lure them outside to chase one another across the thawing grass. By then, everybody has forgotten all about the importance of prizes or fudged rules. Thor’s heap of treasures becomes ineffective fish bait and stabilizers for kites. It ends its life as decoration on Fandral’s key harp, to the chagrin of his parents, who had already commissioned something more tasteful. Though there are times when he misses the warm glow in his head, he comes to realize that he is the only one having fun when the dice come out. As much as he likes his victories, he likes having his friends around more.

So he gives his set away and soon forgets about the game altogether. It doesn’t come back into his life until years later when he is a teenager with a face full of freckles and a thorough lack of impulse control.

Dawn has not yet broken when he slinks out of his quarters carrying a leather bag. It makes a clinking sound with every step he takes and digs into his back when he pulls at the suffering strap to keep its contents in place. He stops when he passes Loki’s quarters, wondering if he is still asleep. His brother’s cloaking spells have become quite good over the last year, but those gifts are rarely free. The last thing Thor wants now is to discuss favors and concessions and to have it all followed by an inevitable argument.

He reaches out to rap on the heavy oak door, hesitates, then walks away. He comes to regret his decision when he steps into the hallway leading to the throne room and finds his father standing by the door.

He regards Thor with an all-knowing look. “You are out of bed a lot earlier than usual.”

Thor nods a quick but deferential greeting. “An Asgardian delegation leaves for Alfheim today. I asked Heimdall to add me to their ranks.” His carefully constructed nonchalance wavers when he walks down the hall, all too aware of his echoing footsteps. “I did not think you would be joining them.”

“You thought correct.” Odin tilts his head towards a narrow bench under a row of ornamented columns. “Sit down, there’s something we need to discuss.”

Thor’s stomach drops to his feet. He sneaks a peek at the clearing sky behind stained glass. “I need to get to the Bifrost before the sun rises too high. Can we leave it for later?”

“We cannot.” His father’s mouth sets into a hard line as he points at the unwieldy burden dangling perilously over Thor’s shoulder. “You can put that down for now.”

Thor casts one last hopeful look around, seeking a potential intercessor. Finding none, he heaves a sigh and rests his back against a column, trying to keep his shuffling feet from betraying his impatience. He can probably still make it to the bridge if he runs fast enough and plays his cards right.

Odin’s next words slam the door on that possibility for good. “Vidar Aegisson of the Mining Guild came to see me yesterday. He brought up charges of theft against you.”

Thor bites back a creative curse and closes a hand over his forehead. “Of course he did,” he groans. “He has some nerve involving the king of Asgard in petty affairs when he could have faced me himself. I wonder if it is courage or common sense that he lacks.”

“So it is true?”

Gray eyes bore into Thor, hard as stone. Frustration overcomes him as he tries to search for diplomatic words and find his skills severely wanting. “There’s no truth in the Nine Realms Vidar won’t twist out of shape,” he protests. “Whatever he told you was a complete fabrication. Otherwise, he would have gone to the Courts and they tend to demand proof, even of nobles.”

“Then that bag of yours is not filled with elven silver?” An awkward pause fills the air, as disappointment deepens light wrinkles on his father’s brow. “Are you going to make me open it myself?”

He reaches out to undo the bronze clasp on the worn-out leather. The gesture feels deliberately slow and it is enough for Thor to take the hint and step in front of the tattered bundle. Hiding his misdeeds from the Allfather is an art he has yet to master but he knows better than to deny them. It is sure to make the aftermath so much worse.

“It is elven silver,” he says through clenched teeth. “And it doesn’t belong to him.”

Odin stays his hand at the admission. Fleeting satisfaction crosses his face before he folds his arms over the royal crest embroidered on his tunic. “Then I hope you have a good explanation for why it belongs to you.”

* * *

Out of all the people in Thor’s sprawling social circle, Fandral is the one who throws the best parties.

His skill, like his mastery of the key harp, is born out of obligation. As the son of Asgard’s finest scholars, he was encouraged to be artistically inclined, but his musical talent has opened a door to flood his family’s mansion with the idlest members of high-society. Thor, who has known Fandral since they were crawling infants, understands that he has no desire to hold endless recitals or to have them turn into lavish entertainment events after his performance. His parents, however, never miss a chance to use their luxurious estate to forge alliances, break existing ones as well as loosen everybody’s tongues with food and drink. Given the permanent shadow of exhaustion behind Fandral’s eyes, he gets to reap none of those benefits. He seems too preoccupied with everyone having a good time to enjoy himself, a task that becomes even more difficult when he knows at best half of the crowd. And the half he knows, he does not necessarily like.

That is probably why he insists on inviting their tight-knit group to every ball, garden party and soirée his image-conscious mother can come up with. Volstagg likes to joke that she seeks to outdo Odin and Frigga and move the Annual Royal Ball to their home turf. That would explain why she is so delighted to see Thor at what she calls “little family gatherings” and why her face falls whenever she spots anyone she considers below her station. Furtive whispers about how Volstagg “is only here for the food” never fail to make Thor’s blood boil despite his friend’s good-natured reaction. If anyone is bold enough to say that to his face, usually after downing their weight in mead, Volstagg’s response is always that it is the only thing worth coming for.

Both Thor and Volstagg know that it isn’t true. They come to ease Fandral’s burden, spend time in his company and linger around a massive fireplace after the last drunk guest has stumbled out the door to reenact their antics beside the roaring flames. As far as they are concerned, that is the highlight of every event.

Some parties put more strain on them than others.

The lesser of Asgard’s three moons is just finding its place among the stars when Thor steps through the door brushing stray leaves from his formal attire. By now, he is more than fashionably late but expensive wine has already begun to flow so his arrival goes relatively unnoticed. He swipes a wooden goblet from a passing tray and starts to make his way through the sea of people, searching for familiar faces. When he finds them on the second floor, lounging around a flower-scented terrace, they seem to have acquired company of their own.

He recognizes Vidar Aegisson the moment Sif forcibly removes his arm off her shoulders. The man’s self-satisfied laughter drifts through the air as he raises his hands in an exaggerated apologetic gesture.

“I was just admiring your form,” he says. “It has been so long since a young maiden was allowed to train in the art of war. I cannot help but worry, my lady. We all know the tragedy of the Valkyries.”

He bares his teeth in what barely passes as a smile. Sif responds by moving even further away. The corners of her mouth lose their sharp edge when they spot Thor but when she turns to face her unwelcome suitor, she bears the look of a dragon disturbed from slumber by an unwise knight.

“Your concern is misplaced, my lord,” she replies, “I have been making a lot of progress. Just last week my instructor taught me how to drop a man with only one arm. Would you like to see?”

Vidar’s thin lips rise in a disbelieving smirk. “Not to downplay your achievements, of course, but I doubt you have that kind of strength.”

Hogun and Volstagg share an eloquent look, faces creased in anticipation. A dangerous spark dances in Sif’s eyes as she looks about to make good on her promise. She never gets the chance, when Thor leans casually against the white-stone balustrade, placing himself square between her and the flamboyantly dressed heir to the House of Aegis.

“It is not about strength, but balance,” he points out. He meets Sif’s playful glance and grins, running a hand over a tender spot at the back of his skull. “She is not joking. It works.”

Vidar’s cocky expression freezes upon his face like an unpleasant rictus. He wastes no time in changing his demeanor as his tone acquires the barest amount of deference. “My liege,” he drawls. “I’m glad to see you in such high spirits tonight. I hear your combat training hasn’t even started yet. It must be nice to spend all your time partying while Asgard’s armies risk their lives for the Nine Realms.”

Thor deliberates if the thin bushes below them would break the man’s fall. “And yet, you don’t seem keen to join them. Or are you only comfortable with spilling blood that is not your own?”

“I serve Asgard with my mind, not my fists. You seem incapable of either.” He peers at Thor over the rim of his thin glass as if he was a fly upon it. “Odin ought to have wisened up by now and made your brother heir to the throne.”

Thor guffaws in between swigs of malty beer. “If he does, your family should find a different occupation. Loki believes the Mining Guild will become obsolete before the next Convergence and enjoys too many privileges already.” He sets the goblet on the stone railing and wipes thick foam off his beard. “He is not wrong in that regard.”

Vidar’s pale eyes narrow in disdain. “Then your father has two foolish sons instead of one. Asgard should pray for his good health for a long time to come.” He regards his drink like it is a nuisance, then drains it and flicks his wrist to throw the glass over the railing. It stops just short of it, shattering loudly at Sif’s feet.

“Maybe he should discard you both and crown me,” says. “I am the one filling up our coffers after all.”

He reaches into his pocket and tosses a silver coin at Thor before walking away. Sif breathes out a sigh of annoyed relief as she returns her full attention to the band playing under a blooming grove. Volstagg’s shoulders rise in a dismissive gesture while Fandral just drags a helpless hand over his face. Faraway chatter trickles into the air once more but it soon grows dull in Thor’s ears as he picks up the coin from among the glass shards.

He frowns, turning it over in his hands. There’s a mild warmth to it that seems to flow from within the metal itself. An elaborate flower-crown is pressed into the pale surface, its faint glow betraying the magic underneath. “That is the crest of the Elven Child Queen,” he says. “What is he talking about?”

The question is directed to no one in particular but it is Hogun who answers, nursing cloudy cider in a grained glass. “His mining expedition found a sacred artifact beneath Alfheim’s highest peak. It was lost to a natural disaster centuries ago, so naturally, he thought it would be a good idea to sell it back to the Elves. Rumor has it, you can buy an entire moon with the silver he got.”

Thor stares blankly at him, stunned almost beyond speech. “The Elves agreed to this?”

Hogun’s impassive expression breaks into a dejected one. “You know your history. Put yourself in the Child Queen’s shoes. What do you think?”

He falls silent again, dark eyes drifting over to the garden where dancers twirl in pairs to a lively melody. Thor’s initial shock quickly boils over into anger as he hurls the gleaming coin into the distance. It describes a wide arc in the fragrant evening air and lands in a shallow pond, disturbing a flock of birds.

“I think Asgard itself should recoil from every step he takes,” he growls, turning to a stone-faced Fandral. “You’re going to let him walk around like he owns the place? He already treats his own servants like trash! I won’t have him spill his bile over anyone else!”

Fandral drops his chin in his hand as he surveys the crowd on the other side of the glazed door. “He’s at the top of Mother’s guest list,” he says dispassionately. “I thought it was odd at first. She never cared much for the Mining Guild but if only half of the money he made is true, she will disown me for throwing him out.”

His defeated laugh goes ignored as Thor’s growing fury becomes relentless determination. “You don’t have to throw him out for me to rearrange his face. It is about time someone taught him manners.”

He slides a silken, ceremonial cape off his back and heads towards the door. He doesn’t make it too far before Fandral blocks his path.

“Thor, no! Wait!” Thin fingers clasp around his arm as his friend’s voice drops to a pointed hush. “Trust me, I don’t like Vidar any more than you. But strike him and this entire place will turn into a brawl. I promise you, some of these people have concealed weapons.” He discreetly thumbs the unusually tall boots worn by a group of young nobles engaged in a drinking contest. “I would rather not end the night with bloodshed. Can you grant me that?”

Thor’s first instinct is to argue but the earnest plea stills his anger enough to stop fighting his friend’s grasp. Eager to avoid a brawl himself, he surveys the hall and tries to figure out how to lure the man to a secluded location to have a less-than-civilized discussion about trade. His plan doesn’t get too far as his wandering gaze settles upon Fandral’s key harp. After all those years, it is still dotted with misshapen gemstones, smooth glass pebbles and other heirlooms of childhood that stir up a flurry of memories and prompt a subtle smirk.

“Very well,” he says tactfully and cranes his neck towards the cheering and clatter of dice in the adjacent hall. “Maybe he can indulge me in a game instead.”

* * *

The All-father looks less than pleased with him.

For a good long while, he says nothing at all. A stern mask locks his features while he stares Thor down, as if trying to figure out whether he is bending the truth and how much. When he decides to speak again, it is to ask a single question.

“Do you remember Asgard’s agreement with the Elven Queen?”

Thor tugs at a hastily woven braid. His tutors have always insisted that he repeat things verbatim, which for him, turns everything into a cacophony to be recited on command faster than meaning can follow. “We provide them with protection from Marauders for the right to mine the mountain chains in the north,” he replies, choosing to skip the process. “And we get to keep everything we find.”

Odin gives him the slightest nod of approval. “Good, so your education is not entirely wasted. Can you explain then what crime has Vidar committed?”

Thor’s chest deflates as he cannot bring himself to untangle the technicalities of Asgardian law. “Crime or not, it was a vile thing to do. What they found was the staff of Inarieth. She was the first high-priestess of Alfheim, who bound her soul to the planet’s core to stop it from growing cold.” He paces across the adorned tiles, trying to assemble his personal grievances into a convincing argument. “It holds no value to Asgard. It is not even magical.”

He turns back to Odin to find him unmoved. “Maybe so. Do you think that gives you the right to steal from your future subjects?”

The words are like a slap in the face, causing the same sort of color to rise to his cheeks. Every speck of self-doubt in him is swept away by a torrent of pure indignation. “I am _not _a thief! He _chose _to gamble it all away! You are acting like I held a knife to his throat!”

“He claims you cheated.”

Thor runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The calm, level tone only fans the flames of his anger and anger has only ever succeeded in clouding his judgment. “I did no such thing,” he retorts, struggling to keep his voice down. “At least a dozen people were watching. What chance could I have possibly had for deception?”

A strange fire catches in Odin’s eyes as he leans forward. “So you just happened to guess how six twenty-sided dice would fall? Twelve times in a row?”

Thor musters a curt, wordless nod in what he is convinced is the first step to his case unraveling. Tension rises between them, thick as a stormcloud, before, eventually, his father rises from the stone bench and signals him to follow.

“Then surely,” he says, “you will be able to do it again.”

* * *

After the dice fly from Odin’s hand from the fifth time, they roll off the table and disappear under a heavy curtain.

It might be due to his hands suddenly acquiring a tremor which Thor has no time to question. He rushes towards the corner and crouches down in search of the small objects hidden in the shadows. When he pulls them out from behind the dusty velvet, he clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“They moved when I picked them up,” he says. “Let me try again.”

He glances at Odin, seeking his blessing but finds only silence. He has hardly uttered a word ever since they stepped inside a chamber beside the throne room to watch the dice tumble across a massive table. In fact, as Thor’s euphoria grows with every correct guess, a shadow spreads further upon in his father’s face. Convinced he still thinks him a cheater, he reaches into a wooden box for a new set but, against all odds, Odin raises a hand to stop him.

“That is enough,” he says slowly. “Whether you cheated or not, the result remains the same. Your endeavor is admirable, but I will not have you undermine our people’s actions before Alfheim. That silver is going back to the Mining Guild.”

Thor’s stomach twists, his hopes dashed yet again. “That is as good as an admission of guilt! Do not place that kind of shame upon me!”

The rest of his protest is silenced by a stony look. “Can you think of nothing besides your wounded pride? We need the support of the noble houses more than we need the Elves right now. A king should defend his subject’s interests, lest they turn on him. Such a rule tends to be rather short.”

Thor tries not to cringe at the thought of dealing with Vidar once he succeeds his father. Hogun’s somber face scalds his memory instead, as he recalls how much his decision to be educated in Asgard had displeased his fellow Vanir. “You once told me that a true king should keep all Nine Realms in perfect harmony,” he says. “You also say that news travels fast over the branches of Yggdrasil. How do you think other realms will react when they learn that we turned a blind eye to this extortion? Will Vanaheim keep supporting us? Will Nidavellir?”

He watches Odin run a hand over his beard. His gaze is honed into sharp scrutiny when it falls back upon him. “If we are to return that money, Aegis is sure to demand retribution. What do you have to placate him?”

“What would you have me offer?”

A lone, gray eye blinks as if not expecting such a prompt answer. Odin’s own, however, is just as quick to follow. “Vidar plans to return to Alfheim to finish mining out the southern side of the mountain. I heard he was looking for workers.”

Thor sneers as every rumor floating around Fandral’s party falls into a very unflattering picture. “Is he now? No wonder nobody wants to follow him. He’s bled the entire region dry, nothing remains there but dust and worthless rock. I will gladly miss a few weeks of my instruction to watch him waste the rest of his father’s money.”

He allows himself a short laugh which Odin fails to return. He seems to be either at a loss for words or waiting for Thor to retract his statement. When the wait is not rewarded, he merely nods and claps Thor over the shoulder with a kind of defeated resignation.

“Then it is settled,” he says. “You will leave in two days and you will come back before the season changes. Just in time for your combat training to start.” He walks over to a tall, wide window and throws it open, letting cool morning air drift in. “Have you picked a weapon yet?”

Thor welcomes the change of subject as he examines the hardening calluses on his palms. “Not yet,” he admits. “I’ve trained with a few but they only throw me off balance.” He thinks of warriors of legend taking down dragons with their bare fists and wonders what it is like to wield that kind of power. “Sometimes I wish I could do without them.”

Odin throws him a chiding look. “Every warrior needs a weapon, Thor. We will find something that suits you by the time you return.” He turns his head towards the golden dome of the Bifrost. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”

Thor can barely believe his luck as he snatches up the leather bag at his feet. “Thank you,” he breathes. “I swear you will not regret this.”

A troubled cloud descends over Odin’s features. He seems distracted all of a sudden, lost in the same kind of state he often finds his brother when he is trying to solve a riddle beyond his grasp. “That is a promise neither of us can keep,” he says and waves his hand towards the exit. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

He doesn’t need to repeat himself as Thor bolts out of the chamber. He rushes past the main gate, followed by confused looks of servants, who do their best to duck out of his path. As he speeds towards the Bifrost, digging his heels into his horse’s sides, he considers rekindling his failed relationship with magic -- if only so he can learn how to fly.

The Elves have it easy, he thinks as he presents the Child Queen with the silver she has sacrificed. Magic is in their blood and they do not even need to think about things like levitation. The Dwarves weave spells into items as easily as taking a breath. Even the Vanir, distant cousins of the Norns, can venture a glance beyond time and space, though this blessing is bestowed only upon their women. It seems that only Asgardians need to fight and claw to get magic to do what they want. And even then, some of them will never achieve that.

As he comes to expect, Vidar is not pleased with his actions on Alfheim. He is even less pleased with the result of his second expedition, which has him lose almost everything he gained during the first. When the season changes and Thor returns to Asgard, exhausted and covered in dust, his wish for flight is granted in the way he least expects.

The hammer is without a doubt, one of Eitri’s finest creations. It is balanced just right, fits his grip like a glove and channels nature itself into an incandescent river of power that sets every inch of his skin ablaze. It gives him the strength to face any enemy, smash through any obstacle and shield everything he loves from harm. Mjolnir also brings with itself harsh training, longer instruction hours and is ultimately what sets him on the path to becoming the next king of Asgard. As his responsibilities mount higher, he is both elated at the future and disheartened at his dwindling leisure.

It is a contradiction that often makes him jealous of his friends, whose handwriting he ends up seeing more than their faces. Despite being on their own paths to adulthood, they seem to have more occasions for distraction while he has less and less time to engage in idle games.

Perhaps, that is the reason why the soft fire he is so fond of never burns behind his eyes again.

* * *

As his senses return to him, Thor finds himself sinking into a pit of dread.

The feeling is overwhelming, weighing down his limbs like a leaden shroud. It reaches inside his throat, squeezing the air out as his heart thuds madly against his ribs. A cold, black sea swirls thicker, threatening to drag him back under before he rebels against it and forces himself to move.

He sits up and hears a small thump to his right. A high-pitched note immediately tears through the silence, shrill and unpleasant enough to chase away encroaching oblivion. He reaches out blindly, trying to make it stop, but it drags on, unbroken as cables tangle between his fingers. The unbearable wailing ceases only when a hand carefully slides them out of his grasp.

By that time, he is also aware of a familiar voice speaking to him in a gentle, soothing tone. He raises his head to find the bleary eyes of Tony Stark peering down on him from under a tousled mess of black hair. The deep shadows that rim them, as well as the blanket draping down a nearby armchair, tell the story of a long night Thor does not remember. Traces of old burns on his crumpled shirt also show he hasn’t bothered to change out of his workshop clothes. The arc reactor shines through them, blue spots of light speckling his skin when Tony leans closer.

“Try not to move,” he hears him say, “You have bleeding-edge tech all around you and it’s extremely fragile.” There is a firm grip on his shoulder to steady him when he sways, trying to take in his surroundings. “Easy, it’s okay, you’re okay. I got you.”

Thor blinks in the faint light pooling over him in patches. The calm reassurance manages to somewhat abate the panic thrashing around in his chest as the shape of the Stark Tower living room becomes recognizable. His erratic breath is just starting to even out when Tony’s hand brushes against bare skin and pain explodes around his temples in a fiery cloud. Crimson drops freezing on a metal floor flicker before him, amidst the faraway sound of clashing metal. The sharp, clean smell of snow is tainted with the heat of fresh blood.

_He is my friend._

_So was I._

The words arrive in his head as pure meaning, etched with a red, hot needle. A foreign feeling of betrayal, clogs his throat, sour and bitter as bile, “Stark...” he mutters, clutching his head. “Were we attacked? Is everyone alright?”

Tony’s confusion is audible as he drops into a chair beside the couch. “No,” he says and seems to hesitate. “I mean, yes. We’re fine, everyone’s fine. No attacks since yesterday which the best metric we’re ever going to get.” His faltering levity is quickly replaced with a frown. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Thor shuts his eyes against the piercing headache steadily eating away at his ability to think straight. If he must be completely honest, the last thing he remembers is a wave of fire crashing around him and the acrid stench of his own burning flesh. The memory is so vivid, it rivals the ones he is trying to rescue from the messy heap the events of the past few days have piled into.

“We were trying to convince Vision to stay for the night,” he replies. “He said he wanted to take a closer look at the world he helped save. You told him not to look too closely in case he had second thoughts.” He cracks a small smile. “You also told him to get rid of the cape.”

Tony’s sigh is practically drenched in relief. “That’s not too bad. Helen said you might lose a few hours but I was afraid of full-on sitcom amnesia.” He chuckles at Thor’s questioning silence. “You had a seizure, Point Break. Bad news is, it was a pretty nasty one. Good news is, you’re going to be okay.” He leans over to fuss over the network of cables, tucking medical tape into strategic spots on the couch. “How do you feel? Any nausea? Blurred vision?”

“I’m tired...”

The words flow out of Thor’s mouth unburdened by thought, prompting another understanding nod. “Checks out, Helen also said you’d be weak as a kitten. You should lie down, save your strength.” Tony studies a thin screen propped against a cushion, then glances back up with renewed concern. “Has this ever happened before?”

Thor murmurs a negative, barely aware of the question. Somewhere across the fractured landscape of his memory, Loki’s voice echoes with hopeless defiance. Against all reason, he grasps at the remnants of the dream but finds them slipping through his fingers. It isn’t long before he cannot remember anything at all.

Beside him, Tony clicks his tongue and slides over to a new tab. “Well, there goes Occam’s Razor,” he says. “My second best guess was that you took a bad hit in Sokovia. FRIDAY couldn’t find any head trauma, but then again, her scans are limited.” He pauses to fish out a disk the size of a coin from the folds of the blanket. “Maybe you just overdid it with the lightning?”

Thor licks flecks of dried blood off his lips. His stomach inexplicably curls on itself at the sight of the device. “My own powers cannot harm me. And I have taken worse hits.”

“Yeah, I know. But did an angry water spirit ever drink your life through a straw on the same day?” Tony tries to press the disk against Thor’s neck and blinks in puzzlement when a tight grasp finds his wrist. “Whoa, what’s wrong? What did I—?”

The question devolves into a yelp as sparks quite literally fly between them. Lightning streams unbidden across Thor’s skin before he is aware of it, sending the thin monitor he is hooked to into a blinking, sputtering mess. Tony wrenches himself free and darts back, nearly knocking over the chair as he puts his foot into a ceramic bowl on the floor. Water spills over his slippers, soaking into the carpet, which only causes him to back further away.

“Relax,” he pants in shock. “It’s just a thermometer.”

For a moment, Thor can do nothing but sit frozen. His heart flails feral, like a bird caught in a hunter’s fist. Shame and regret soon follow when he spots the apprehension upon Tony’s face and has to actively stop himself from reaching out to him. He waits until the frenzied air around the couch loses its deadly sting to even attempt to move again.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I thought…”

His voice gives out as he realizes he cannot remember that either. His fingers rake through tangled hair as if groping for a phantom limb and when that mundane contact does not feel real, his mind begins to unravel at a frightening speed. He has no explanation for the fact that his right eye aches terribly, nor does he understand his absolute certainty of a disaster looming over everything he holds dear. In fact, he could swear on his mother’s grave that it has already struck. Hundreds, maybe thousands could be lying dead somewhere beyond the tower while he is sitting here, doing nothing.

A failure. Unworthy.

“This isn’t right,” he murmurs through a haze. “I shouldn’t be here. I have to go.”

He reaches out for Mjolnir and makes a move to swing his feet to the floor. He stays on them for about two seconds before the room tilts at the corner of his eye and slides out of view. Darkness closes in, deep, heavy and dreamless. When it pulls away, he is slumped back against the couch with Tony’s worried face hovering over him.

“Sunshine? Can you hear me?” Cool fingers rest gingerly against his skin, turning his face towards the light. “I told you to lie down, you’re dehydrated as hell.” The cushions shift and a few seconds later, a glass with a straw is firmly pressed into his hand. “Here, drink up. Slowly.”

Thor only manages a weak nod. His head still feels like it is stuffed with wool as he bends down to sip lukewarm water. He is halfway through the glass when the fog lifts off his mind and a crisp, solid world replaces a quivering mirage. By the time the last drop passes his lips, the pulsing fire between his temples becomes a distant thud and the terrible weakness starts to gradually relinquish its grasp. He finally feels whole, instead of scattered into a thousand pieces and as he looks up, he finds Tony’s eyes reflecting the silvery glow of the emergency lights. For a moment, they remind him of Heimdall and the thought brings with it an unexpected pang of homesickness.

“Thank you,” he says, finding his voice. “Forgive me, I did not mean...”

“To almost fry me on the spot? No harm done, I didn’t even know you could do that without the hammer.” Tony reaches for the blank screen on the carpet, taps it with a disheartened look and disconnects it from the nest of cables. “Listen, I don’t need to see your vitals to know you’re not even close to well. So can you do me a favor and stay put? Because I doubt you would make it past that door without passing out again.”

His tone acquires a scolding hint as he gently pushes Thor into a stack of pillows. The cradling warmth weaves an enticing spell that lasts only for a few seconds before he sits back up. “I can’t,” he mutters. “Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.”

A commiserating glance settles on him, one that makes Thor reevaluate his slipping hold on sanity. “Not gonna lie, I get that. I’ve had that same feeling ever since space whales almost wrecked New York. And if I learned something this week it’s that indulging it only leads to disaster.” Tony’s hand lingers briefly on top of his head, in a gesture he finds oddly comforting. “Breathe. It gets a bit better if you remember to breathe.”

Thor weaves cold fingers together as he stares into the thinning night. The darkness stirring in his mind coalesces into the memory of a somber conversation at the helicarrier, reminding him that his hurry to leave was not misplaced. “This is bigger than New York,” he says. “The people who gave Loki the Scepter were also after the Tesseract and I doubt they have forgotten their failure. They will return soon enough, they may come for Asgard as well. I need to find them before that happens and finding the remaining Stones is my best chance.”

The knowing shadow upon Tony’s face deepens along with a pointed sigh. “I hear you. But this was the plan before you almost gave me a heart attack. The power will come back in a few hours and when it does, you’re going straight into an MRI. I’ve spoken with the medical branch at the Stark Relief Foundation and they are glad to help us out.” He looks down at his phone and cocks an eyebrow at the glowing screen. “Weirdly glad, now that I think about it.”

Thor pulls restively at a strand of hair. The temptation to accept the offer tugs at his very core but the path across the stars is already taking shape as he shakes his head in dismissal. “I cannot stay,” he protests. “They say the Stones call to one another in times of great shifts in the universe. They will not remain hidden for long. And whatever hands they end up in will not be safe for long either.”

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose in a weary gesture that is becoming unsettlingly common. “God save us from living in interesting times,” he says. “Wherever they are, I am sure they will not resurface within the next twenty-four hours. Or the next seventy-two for that matter.” He throws a meaningful look at Thor before his mouth even has a chance to open. “I don’t want to hear it. You saved my life back in Sokovia, I’m supposed to return the favor. Isn’t that how the Asgardian warrior code goes?”

Thor can only nod in amused acknowledgment. “Among warriors in battle, yes. We are friends, Stark, you owe me nothing.”

“Then, as a friend, let me make sure you’re okay.” Thor’s lengthening pause only opens an opportunity for another preemptive attack. “Look, your physiology has been on the backburner for too long and this was a very close call. Besides, no one should be gallivanting around space without a clean bill of health. Can we agree on that? For my peace of mind?”

Thor just lets out a subtle laugh as he sinks back into the welcoming hold of the pillows. Now that his senses are unclouded by pain, the delicate scent of lavender drifts all around him, making his eyelids heavy and his breathing deep and even. Asgard had never mastered the concept of fabric softener, clothes and sheets back there carry only the smell of soap and a lingering hint of lye. It has taken him a while to get used to the intrusive fragrance the first time he had laid in bed on the top floor of the tower. Now, it is second nature enough to fall into the background. Now, it is something he will miss.

The last stubborn thread of hesitation in him comes undone when he meets the brown eyes still waiting for an answer. He will miss many things after he leaves Midgard behind. He can allow himself one last act of selfishness.

“We can,” he says, “For your peace of mind.”

Tony aims a winning smile at him, laced with a sort of relieved exhaustion. “Good,” he replies. “You got yourself a deal, sunshine. You also really should get some rest. Long day tomorrow.” He turns to lower the blinds and squints in the newborn morning light washing across the sky. “Or, technically, today.”

* * *

Thor doesn’t sleep for long.

Tony finds him in the kitchen before noon, dipping oatmeal cookies into a steaming mug. He doesn’t talk much, limiting himself to a shrug when Tony teases him about his growing dependence on caffeine. Any inquiries about his well-being are answered with a polite nod and promptly forgotten. At first, Tony suspects he is ashamed of what happened last night until he watches a thoughtful shadow gather upon his face while he charts a complex star map on a napkin. He knows that look, it had been their constant companion when they were searching for the Chitauri Scepter. He also knows that once it has settled in Thor’s eyes, there is little chance of him relenting from his quest.

His pensive demeanor remains even as they leave the tower for the new Avengers Headquarters. Tony tries to distract him with small talk, but he appears to be somewhere else, drifting mid-conversation and giving only monosyllabic answers. It is only when they find themselves surrounded by people that he reverts back to his usual, smiling self. Even if that smile is a little strained at the sight of the MRI machine.

Tony can’t bring himself to blame him. As much as no one in the Compound would intentionally harm Thor, the Alien Autopsy jokes floating around are hard to miss. As are the ubiquitous references to Roswell.

Thor, however, is eager to lean into them after he finds out the device’s inner workings. He compares it to something called a soul forge and talks about it non-stop in the nearly two hours he spends stuck inside the metal coffin. It takes the medical team another hour to process the results but their deliberations about them could take the rest of the month. Lacking any reliable frame of reference, the only thing they can do is use a human one and accept any deviations as the norm. With the seizure behind him and without any visible symptoms to go on, Thor seems absolutely fine.

Pale and drained from the entire ordeal, but fine. Quiet, but fine.

Tony has trouble reconciling those two concepts. Especially when he feels there’s something on Thor’s mind that weighs heavier than the Infinity Stones.

The nagging feeling still chases after him two days later, when they are walking along freshly cut grass, joined by Steve Rogers. The Compound spreads far behind them, white walls reflecting the last unexpected generosity of autumn. The pale sun brings little warmth so he slides his hands into his pockets and finds an unopened pack of cigarettes.

He drags his fingers over the seal on instinct, then pulls them back into the cooling air. If he wants to see the future, he has to start putting real effort into it.

Steve, who has been walking a few steps ahead, slows down to let them catch up. Blue eyes aim an inquisitive look at Tony. “I received some pretty official-looking paperwork this morning,” he says. “Does that mean your decision is final?”

There’s a wistful tone in his voice that almost makes Tony reconsider what he knows has been a long time coming. “Try not to get nostalgic about it,” he quips. “ But yeah, from tomorrow on, I am an active duty non-combatant. I have my hands full with Stark Enterprises, the superhero game is for the younger crowd. And one senior citizen.”

Steve snickers as he lets out a small shrug. “That’s a shame, the team won’t be the same without you. We will have to work extra hard to measure up.” He brushes a rebel shock of hair out of his eyes and glances at their uncharacteristically silent companion. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

Thor’s mouth presses into a thin line as he studies the discolored sky. “Longer than I wish,” he says. “The Stones have never been easy to track and the universe is only growing more vast. Could be a year. Maybe more.”

“How’s Jane taking that?”

The question is followed by a pause that drags on for an uncomfortably long time. Tony watches Steve’s lips begin to move but whatever saving throw he was trying to accomplish dies when they both see Thor’s eyes darken and his face fall slightly. By then, the answer becomes clear as does his absence from Stark Tower for the better part of the weekend. As a silent army of power suits rises in Tony’s memory, it prompts a pang of sympathy.

“When?” he asks.

Thor picks at his hands as if to ward off cold Tony knows he cannot feel. “Yesterday,” he replies after clearing his throat in a poorly disguised attempt to steady his voice. “She returned from the Sydney Observatory on Friday for an interview. A teaching position opened up in New York, she was thinking of taking it. She wouldn’t have to travel so much then. Settling down would have been a lot easier.”

He trails off, restless fingers fidgeting with a thin braid the rising gale is pulling apart. Tony doesn’t reply as he finds himself thinking back to three months ago when Stark Tower had hosted a fundraising event supporting women in STEM. That was when he had first met Jane Foster though, by the time they were formally introduced, she and Bruce had been discussing the Einstein-Rosen Bridge for an hour, while Thor and Natasha looked on in a kind of warm bemusement that could only come from genuine affection. The same affection had burned in Jane’s eyes whenever she looked at Thor and for a while, Tony couldn’t help but think they were embarrassingly adorable. That is, until someone cracked a joke about half-Asgardian children and they both adopted the blank look of a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck.

To this day, Tony doesn’t remember their answer. He isn’t sure if Thor and Jane do.

Tony rarely hears Thor talk about the future. He is happy to discuss the plans of others but his own are at best a sketch on a mostly blank canvas. Sometimes, he suspects Thor has a very specific set of pieces floating in his head but isn’t entirely sure how they can form a coherent picture. Jane is definitely an essential part of that picture and yet, one simple question managed to unravel it that night as the Asgardian lifespan reared its ugly head once again. No matter how career-driven Jane was or how much time Thor spent with the Avengers, they were moving through life at different speeds and would drift hopelessly out of sync as time went on. Settling down, under those circumstances, could not have been an easy decision for Jane, but it seemed like she was finally ready to do just that.

And then, an invisible hand reached out from the furthest corner of the universe and pulled the rug straight from under their feet. That could not have been easy either.

He has no words to mitigate a fallout like that, except for all the obvious ones. “I’m sorry.”

Thor sighs under a gust of strong wind combing through the grass. “Don’t be,” he says, “It wasn’t a quarrel and she remains one of my closest friends. In the end, it is all for the best.” Doubt wells in his eyes for a second before he flashes a meek, reassuring smile. “I will miss our time together but I will treasure the memories.”

“I know what that feels like.” Steve’s voice carries its own particular melancholy. It is broken by a smirk of complicity when a group of people from U-GIN Genetics wave a greeting at them from a distance. “If it’s any consolation, you may have a shot with Helen.”

Thor’s eyes narrow a bit, as they tend to do when he isn’t sure if someone is serious. When Steve’s face reflects nothing but absolute sincerity, he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“I doubt that,” he says. “Helen’s a smart woman, she deserves someone on her level. Not to mention, someone who didn’t destroy her life’s work.” He clasps both their shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Give my best to the rest of the team. And take care of one another. Avengers or not, this planet needs you all.”

There’s a troubled hint to his words that does not go unnoticed. It bleeds into Tony’s own as he tightens his own grasp around an engraved bracer. “Point taken,” he replies. “Be careful out there. And if you happen to stumble upon the secret to perpetual motion, make sure to write it down. We could really use that.”

The god of thunder returns a warm nod and steps away into a safe distance. The stark wind acquires a mind of its own as it changes direction and flows in an upward spiral, dragging dry leaves in its wake. Thor stands in the center of it all, seemingly untouched by the fluke of nature as he raises Mjolnir towards the frayed clouds.

There’s a shift in the air. A beam of light descends from the ashen sky in a blink and is gone just as fast. When multicolored dots stop dancing before Tony’s eyes, they are standing alone before a large, round seal burnt firmly into the turf.

“Guess lawns aren’t much of a thing in Asgard.” Tony holds back a sigh and turns to Steve. “You guys met up this morning, right? Did he seem a bit spacey to you? No pun intended.”

Steve shrugs, pulling a dead leaf out of his hair. “Hard to say. I think we’re all still rattled. We missed the end of days by the skin of our teeth.” He raises his voice as helicopter blades tear the air overhead. “You’re seriously worried about him?”

“I worry about a lot of things. Thor just got bumped up a few spots on the list.” Tony shakes his head at the visible question rising in the man’s eyes. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see him. Did you know that the human brain starts to denature after it hits a hundred and eight degrees? I sure as hell didn’t and he passed that point by a mile before Helen even told me which drug to go for. That kind of thing leaves you a bit paranoid.”

“He doesn’t have a human brain, remember? And he heals almost as fast as Hulk.” A shadow crosses Steve’s face at the mention of their missing friend as he adds, “You and Bruce say that science is the only thing we can trust. If you ran every possible test and found nothing, doesn’t that mean there isn’t anything to be found?”

Tony turns up his coat against a weak drizzle that has come to replace the quieting wind. “I’m trying to keep an open mind lately. Turns out there are more things in heaven and earth and a lot of them don’t show up on scans.” A craving for a cigarette nudges him again and he keeps it at bay by rubbing his fingers together. “Even a lot of our Midgardian things don’t.”

He only realizes his peculiar change of terminology after he has already said it. A quirk touches Steve’s lips but he doesn’t comment upon it further. “Like what?” he asks.

“Like how the guy has been on Earth for two years and he’s already flirting with anxiety. That sounds pretty human to me.” The conceding chuckle he gets in reply does little to assuage the foreboding feeling in his chest. “I think he’s new to the whole experience. He might need us at some point and we wouldn’t even know.”

“He just had a city fall on him and walked away with a few scratches. You should give him more credit.” Steve casts one last look at the seal before walking over it as he starts to head back to the Compound. “We have a world to keep safe, Tony, if anyone can take care of himself, it’s Thor. We can’t afford to split our focus right now.”

He picks up the pace as the weather takes a sharp turn for the worse. Tony stays behind, peering at the overcast sky and thinks of cosmic forces from the dawn of time, spinning webs in the uncaring dark. He thinks of Marauder armies charging across the nebula that links Earth to strange realms and of spirits that can move through time as if through water. He wonders if he will ever see them, or if he is better off not knowing the true scope of what is out there. If it is as dangerous as it sounds, everyone on Earth should be keeping a low profile and step away from space exploration.

But the mark of the Bifrost etched in fire on the grass is like a farewell card that fills him with uncertainty. It is a poignant reminder that their time together is as pleasant as it is fleeting. And now that Thor is gone, he finds that he is a lot more willing to share in the danger that lies beyond the cold stars if he can make it last a little bit longer.

“Why not?” he murmurs, following Steve across the wet turf. “He does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, this two-shot is over. I would like to thank Trudy for being my unwavering cheerleader and helping this fic bloom into all it can be. :)
> 
> I absolutely intend to write a Companion Fic to it but I got two wolves fighting within me. One wants to write another two-shot companion piece, another wants to dive headlong into a multichapter in the style of Future Imperfect. Either way, one of those is getting written. Eventually.
> 
> In the meantime, if you liked it, please leave a comment. I am always delighted to see familiar faces as well as newcomers to Thor whump. And Thor content in general. :)


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